How to save a life
by the-rebel-archer
Summary: "If you want to see the true measure of a man, watch how he treats those in need." Rather shameless fluff-short and sweet. No beta, hot off the press, just felt like sharing moment. A chance to stretch my writing muscles. Profanity.


He may have been a dangerous man; his skills with weapons, fighting and tactical thinking unparalleled by few but he was not a cruel man. He was just. That much his father had taught him. But trying to balance noble thoughts and a not-so-noble past became somewhat difficult when something fragile was thrown into the precariously balanced mix.

His carefully constructed homeostasis was under attack as protective instincts surged, shattering the façade of indifference and derision he had adopted since that greyhound headed straight for Stanford. Dean rubbed away the sweat dripping off his forehead with the cuff of his sleeve. What was he going to do? He was 22 for God's sake he shouldn't be panicking like this!

 _Suck it up Winchester!_ He thought breathlessly to himself. Wide eyes darting back and forth rapidly in search of someone to shove the whole damned situation onto he let out a frustrated and desperate gasp, clouding the increasingly bitter air of the damp alley with his breath. A single, heavy plop of ice cold rain dripped onto the top of his head, trailing its way down his neck and sending foreboding shivers wracking through his body. The single drop was soon followed by a torrent of others and Dean ducked his body under a feeble roof, bending his stiff knees and crouching down next to the tiny body quaking with shivers in the cardboard box. Without a second thought he slid out of his soft (and notably dry) shirt and wrapped it round the body. He was only a baby! He hadn't been separated from his little brother for so long that he had forgotten how to care for a little one. It was easy; keep them warm, keep them fed, keep them safe. Always keep them safe.

What the hell was his father going to say when he came home to this?

The motel room, whilst lacking literally any aesthetic appeal, was warm and dry. They had a meagre supply of food left and a dash of milk from the earlier morning which he sacrificed for the little one staring at him with soulful, exhausted eyes from his position on the bed. He was too mistrustful to sleep by choice. Dean had spent the night in equal parts anxiously pacing a hole in the threadbare carpet, anxiously checking on the baby wrapped up in threadbare blankets and anxiously chewing through his lips waiting for his father to return.

Rubbing his palms together quickly he turned his eyes once more towards Oscar; admittedly it wasn't the most creative name on the planet but 'it', 'he' and 'little one' didn't really have a ring to them either. Within two short strides he was crouched once again in front of sleepy green eyes and in an act of gentleness he stroked the soft tufts of black on the top of his head. Whilst murmuring words of comfort, Dean's sharp hearing picked up on the familiar sound of his father's truck pulling into the space in front of their shared room.

He gulped nervously and positioned his body unknowingly in front of the silent-for now-bundle. He counted down in his head from the moment he heard the slam of the truck door to the jangle of the handle to the room. Swinging open without a sound the formidable John Winchester strode into the room, his mouth turned down into its permanent scowl. All in all, Dean thought to himself, it must have been a good hunt.

"Dean." He grumbled. "How did the research go?" Straight to business then. Fuck how was he going to explain that he got slightly sidetracked without John Fucking Winchester chewing his ass for it? Licking his lips, he tried to speak but only a croak came out. His father looked up from unlacing his boots and deepened his frown, the bed creaking under the shift in weight. Some of it had to be due to tension in the room surely, he'd be damned if it wasn't.

"Speak up boy, I asked you a question."

He exhaled, flinching softly at his father's sharp tone; "Yes sir…" Despite warming up since coming in earlier, Dean felt the chill settle into his bones once again. A good soldier followed orders. Running a hand briefly through his hair Dean steeled his nerves and opened his mouth to explain when a loud yowl of displeasure sounded from behind him.

 _Well Dean,_ he thought, _you've had a good run._

Narrowing his eyes and lips, John tilted his head and settled his cool gaze on the culprit of the noise and Dean stiffened visibly. Shit had officially hit the fan.

"Dean."

"Yes sir."

"What is that?" Voice silky, John stood and strode over to pull the blanket aside sidestepping his frozen son.

Licking his lips once again and darting his eyes hesitantly towards his father, Dean replied slowly at first. "He."

Quite obviously displeased with the entire situation, John hissed in return "He. It's a boy. What the _fuck_ Dean?! I trusted you to do some research to actually save lives! Not bring home a new toy!"

Feeling anger and injustice rise within him like an inferno, the tension and hostility of the last few weeks pushed Dean closer and closer to snapping but without Sam as a buffer their father had taken out his moods solely on the last person around to bear them.

"He's just a baby! He would have died if I had left him there! Does his life not count? You tell me to save lives, be a man that would make my mother proud…what makes this any different?" Dean snapped quickly in one rushed breath.

Dragging his hand down his face wearily, John looked up in exasperation and sighed heavily. "Dean it's a kitten."

Silence settled on the room like a blanket and Oscar sensing the awkwardness chose the perfect moment to mewl pitifully from the bed. Padding unsteadily over the lumpy blankets, the tiny ball of pitch black fur stopped just short of John's hand. After a brief hesitation, he darted forward and gave John's wedding band a sandpaper kiss.

Face softening ever so slightly, John settled the kitten on the palm of his hand and watched him intently. It seemed like a sign, Mary had always wanted a cat before they had had children. Resting his other hand on the tiny creature's back he gave a still frozen Dean a resigned look.

Dean hadn't seen his father show so much care or gentleness with anything since Sammy was just little. His posture had loosened marginally, coming down from the ever prepared Hunter stiffness and his breathing seemed a little easier. It was astounding the effect holding the little cat had on the man. A possessive pride came over him and he held out his hands to take the kitten.

"His name is Oscar…I'm keeping him."

"…It's a big responsibility."

"I'm sure I'll be fine, Oscar is an independent animal." Ignoring his father's scoff he scowled and placed the kitten on his shoulder, steadying him with one hand. Ignoring the whispers that really he was just looking for something that he could take care of and that would love him the same way Sammy once did.

With a shrug, John sat himself down heavily once again and cast a lopsided smile at the kitten chewing absently with tiny teeth at his son's ear. Despite his grumbling at the cat's actions, even John could see that Dean was genuinely happy for the first time in months. While he far from filled the Sammy shaped hole that had been left in the family of two's lives John thought to himself that maybe, just maybe things would be a little bit warmer with another personality in every dingy motel room and long stint on the road. Lord knows Dean needed it. Mary knew that they all needed it.


End file.
